Scavenger Hunt
by FeistyFeral
Summary: A short story about celebrating Christmas: Winchester style. Please R&R My first fic, please be kind! A couple spoilers & rated M for language and some minor sexual content.
1. A Blow to the Head & Early Mornings

Chapter 1—Scavenger Hunt

Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the show or its characters (much to my dismay and disappointment!) I only own the ones that you don't recognize.

Please read and review. This is my first time writing anything along the lines of a fic. So please be kind!

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"Sammy! Look out!" Dean shouted as he saw a chair flying towards his little brother's back.

Sam hit the floor just in time to dodge the chair, "thanks, Dean!"

"Just start exorcising this demon already!" Dean shouted as the demon tackled him to the floor. A sickening crack was heard throughout the room as Dean's head made contact with the edge of the metal coffee table.

_God! I hate this 'modern' furniture! It's ugly and it really hurts when you hit it! Where is a good old fashioned, flimsy coffee table when you need one?_ Dean kept this monologue going in order to keep his mind off the white hot pain that was radiating throughout his skull and the pummeling the demon was delivering at the moment.

"Christo," Dean grunted between blows. The demon flinched and he laughed, "how's that feel you fugly bastard? Christo! How does that feel? Huh? You should probably know that if you're going to try and kill me, you had better make sure I'm dead and buried because if I'm not, then I'm going to come back, kick your ass and then kill you!"

Dean grinned and shook his head, "You guys never seem to get that. But then again, I guess it doesn't take a genius to kill people. Case and point: if you're going to possess someone, you should at least find a guy with a nice body. Not that," he advised as he gestured to the protruding belly. "Chicks aren't into that dude. And the ones that are; you wouldn't want to touch them with a ten foot pole."

The demon silenced Dean's mockery with a swift uppercut to the jaw that left Dean with a split lip and a few loose teeth. "How does that feel, Dean? Does it hurt as much as knowing that your Dad is spending eternity in Hell because of you? Do you want another one?"

Dean's rage boiled over as he grabbed the demon's arm that was holding him in to the floor and bucked his hips while rolling to the right. He landed on top of the demon and began beating the hell out of him. He knew why his Dad wasn't hunting with them. He knew that John would be spending eternity in Hell because of his eldest son. He knew all of this and still felt the stab of guilt along with the anger; the rage that exploded whenever one of these evil creatures even mentioned his father, the very person who taught him how to fight them.

A scream filled the air and Dean realized that Sam had exorcised the demon.

Unfortunately, the man that was possessed did not make it. Dean's beating didn't help, but this particular demon had conveniently been pushed in front of an oncoming transport truck (a move on Dean's part since the demon was trying to throw Sam into the path of the oncoming eighteen wheeler), so the odds of his survival were next to nil.

A noise behind him caused Dean to try to jump up and turn around; only he stumbled and fell to his knees. "Sammy! Give a guy a 'lil warnin' before you sneak up on him, 'kay?" he slurred.

"Dean, are you okay?"

"'Course I'm fine."

"We're going to the hospital," Sam stated as he probed the back of Dean's head, earning him a hiss of pain from his older brother.

"I'm fine. I already said that," he gritted out as he swatted his brother's hands away.

"Dean, don't argue with me! We're going!"

"No, we're not. It's my car that we're driving and my head that was hit. I'm fine. Jus' a bit dizzy," he tried to assure his younger sibling.

"No Dean, you're not okay! You're falling down, you have a nasty gash where your head collided with the table and you are slurring your words. I'm worried, so get your ass out to the car! Move it!"

"If my head wasn't spinning so much, I'm deck you for talking to me like that," Dean relented as he held out a hand for Sam to help him up from the floor.

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As Sam drove his older brother to the local ER he became increasingly worried. Dean had been becoming more and more unresponsive. He was looking around at things like he was seeing everything for the first time and he wasn't making much sense. By the time they got to the ER Sam felt his control slipping as his brother became more deranged.

They didn't have long to wait, and Sam was thankful for that. The doctor saw Dean, preformed a neurological exam, sent him for a CT scan, stitched him up and then sent him home with his younger brother along with a prescription for a mild painkiller. Her diagnosis: a concussion, but nothing too serious.

Sam didn't sleep that first night; he was too worried about Dean to even think about sleeping. He woke his brother up every three hours, even though he almost lost his life to his very tired, drugged up brother who promised to "throttle" him the next time he even thought about waking him up.

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**THREE DAYS LATER:**

The door to Dean's cheap motel room burst open and he stumbled in with Suzanna, the local smoking hot bartender. He kicked the door closed with his heel and locked it, never breaking contact with her lips. Dean started to navigating her where he wanted to go, but she spun him around and shoved him onto the bed. Dean landed with a muted thud as he watched her saunter over to the cheap radio, the sway of her hips under her short skirt were hypnotizing and he drew a long, deep breath as he tried to remember if he had a condom in his wallet.

Suzanna settled on a station as a song started playing; turning a predatory smirked at Dean. He grinned in anticipation as he recognized the tune "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy" by Big & Rich. Suzanna began her teasingly slow striptease. Her shirt was the first to go revealing tanned skin, a firm belly and a lacy red bra. Dean's grin grew as she unzipped her tight jean skirt and shimmied out of it uncovering matching panties. He took a moment to take a mental snapshot of this arousing image: the petite woman of twenty two with her brunette, shoulder length hair that spiraled around her face as she danced provocatively to the music in her cowboy boots. It was Texas after all and he was thankful for that.

"Dean?" a voice questioned.

Suzanna was reaching behind her back…

"Dean?" He recognized that voice. He'd know it anywhere. Sam.

"Go away, Sammy! I'm busy!" Dean groaned.

Suzanna was unclasping her bra when he blinked and the lighting in the room had changed, and the radio was off. Suzanna wasn't there. Sam was. "Jesus!" Dean growled.

"Not quite," Sam retorted.

"Sammy," he moaned while roughly rubbing his hands over his face, "I was having the greatest dream and you woke me up just before the best part." He sighed wearily until a thought occurred to him and he shot up in bed, "What's wrong? Are you okay? Do we have a hunt?"

Sam smiled widely, "Yeah, but not the kind you're thinking of."

"Damn it Sammy!" he whined while sinking back onto the mattress, "It's too early to be cryptic like that!" Dean's temper was mounting and gathered even more speed as he glanced at his watch. "5 am?! What the hell is wrong with you?! If you don't tell me that you're deathly ill, so help me God, I'm going to help you get that way!"

Sam's smile grew even larger, "Do you know what day it is?"

Dean gave Sam an incredulous look and shrugged his shoulders, it was freezing outside and the heater in their room was broken (of course).

Sam waited patiently for Dean to remember the date.

'_Wait, it's cold. Really cold. It's December, that means that it's—'_ Dean tossed his head to try and clear out the sleep and drug induced haze that was still lingering in his mind. It had only been three days since he sustained that concussion and the side effects had subsided, with the exception of a killer headache. He mentally counted the days since their run-in with the demon. Dean suddenly grinned up at his younger brother and said, "Merry Christmas, Sammy."

Sam laughed, "Are you sure you didn't hit your head harder than you originally thought? You never forget Christmas! You even remembered that one year when Dad was gone on a hunt and you stole that book from the library so that I'd have something under the tree."

"Oh God, don't remind me! I had detention for a month and they made me apologize to Ms. Smithers. She looked and smelled like road kill that's been in the sun for a week," Dean winced at the memory.

"It was sweet, even though my Christmas present was taken away before I could finish it," Sam added with a wink.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

Dean smiled at the prospect of all the different things he could do to get revenge on Sammy for waking him up at this ungodly hour. He settled for a glare and a wider smile, "Bitch."

"Jerk."

They chuckled as Sam reached behind him and produced a large, steaming cup of coffee to Dean.

"That's the least you could do for waking me up," Dean groused, only half serious as he took an appreciative sip from his Styrofoam cup. "Wait…you said something about a hunt. What's the job?"

"It's not so much a job as a…non-supernatural hunt."

**If I get enough reviews to continue this story my updates may be a bit slow for the next week or two because I have exams. I originally was planning this as a one shot, but wasn't sure if you guys would like it, so I decided to post this and wait to see the reaction I got. Enjoy!**

**FeistyFeral**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2— Ice & Hunting

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing. It makes me sad, but it's true…maybe for Christmas this year Santa will surprise me with the rights to the show and its characters...but I'd prefer to have Dean waiting under my Christmas tree! ;P**

**I haven't gotten any reviews tear, but my computer was acting up for a bit this week, so (hopefully) I'll get some reviews for this chapter! Please R&R!!**

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"_That's the least you could do for waking me up," Dean groused, only half serious as he took an appreciative sip from his Styrofoam cup. "Wait…you said something about a hunt. What's the job?"_

"_It's not so much a job as a…non-supernatural hunt."_

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted, "Look, you know me. I'm not a morning person. As a matter of fact, I hate mornings. I don't function very well this early. Just spell it out for me."

"Okay, okay! Talk about being touchy!" Sam spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to a very small child, "It's Christmas. Are you following me so far?"

_Thunk! _A pillow was flung across the small space between the two beds and pelted Sam in the side of the head.

"I'm tired Sammy, not stupid."

Sam laughed, only infuriating his brother further, "Alright! For Christmas this year, I planned for you to work for your present. You're going on a scavenger hunt."

Dean's eyes grew wide and his voice came out strained as he said, "Pardon?"

"Yeah. Just think of this as a qualifying round. You took a nasty blow to the head, and I don't want to hunt with you if you aren't up to par."

"I may have taken a blow to the head, but I can still kick your ass whenever I want to," Dean stated as he got up and headed over to his duffle bag to find a shirt to put on over his bare chest.

"Oh yeah?"

There was no verbal response as Dean flew through the air and tackled his brother from behind.

They landed on the floor with a solid _thud_ as they began to wrestle. After 5 minutes Dean had Sam pinned to the floor and was laughing at his younger brother's futile attempts to get out of Dean's hold.

John had taught his eldest son this particular move one time while Sam was at school and they had the rare treat of just wrestling as a father and a son. Both John and Dean had pretended that it was a training exercise, but they hadn't wrestled in years and Dean finally thought he had a fair chance of beating his father at his own game. He'd been sadly mistaken as his father had pinned him using that exact same move.

Sam's voice broke through Dean's memory and he glanced down to see his brother's concerned look.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay."

"Yeah, I was just remembering something."

"What were you remembering? You had this nostalgic smile on your face."

Dean cleared his throat, "It's nothing. But as I said Sammy, I can still kick your ass whenever I want to, which means that maybe _you _need a qualifying round," he challenged as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ebb the migraine that was threatening to split his skull in two.

Sam saw Dean rubbing his neck and realized that he was still having massive headaches, even though the older Winchester denied it. It reminded him that his brother was still trying to shake off the physical effects of what could have been his last hunt.

He decided to let Dean's abrupt change of subject go for the time being, "Whatever. Now, let's get on with you finding your Christmas present!" He grinned in a way that could only be described as full of mischief.

Dean groaned good-naturedly, "Alright little brother, where is it?"

"You have to find it."

"Seriously?"

"It's a scavenger hunt!"

Dean's posture slumped.

Sam nodded enthusiastically and handed him a piece of paper, "Here's your first clue!"

Dean took the paper and grumbled, "This is great. Just freaking great! First you wake me up from what promised to be a _very _interesting dream _before_ the crack of dawn and now you're making me hunt for my Christmas present?"

"Mmm hmm!"

Dean growled as he read the first clue: _'I can be used at the dinner table, but you have another use for me…' _Dean rolled his eyes and hauled himself to his feet, "You know that I'm a professional hunter, right? This is too easy, you don't give me enough credit! Underneath this ruggedly handsome exterior lies an intellect that could rival Einstein."

Sam let out a whoop of laughter that only served to incense his older brother even further.

_I'll show him!_ thought Dean as he practically stomped over to his duffle bag that held a small arsenal. He pulled the zipper so hard that he was mildly surprised when it didn't break.

Inside, he rifled around to find the shotgun filled with rock salt. He pulled it out and there was a note attached to the barrel of the shotgun with red ribbon: _'I keep your pearly whites…white.' _

Dean shot a glance Sam's way and he shrugged, "I couldn't think of anything wittier for that clue."

The eldest Winchester trudged his way into the small, dingy washroom and grabbed his toothbrush that was tied with another red ribbon. The clue read: _'I hold all your contacts and you still treat me like trash…'_

Dean stuck his head out of the washroom with one eyebrow quirked, "'You still treat me like trash'? What the hell Sammy?"

"What? Maybe your phone has feelings like you and I," Sam strained to control the laughter that threatened to escape his lips under his brother's disbelieving gaze.

"That's lame."

"I know!" He laughed.

Dean chuckled as he quickly rounded the two beds, headed over to the nightstand and picked up his cell phone with the now expected red ribbon and attached note: _'I hold more fame within me than you could possibly imagine…'_

Dean re-read the note to make sure he understood it correctly and to give himself more time to think as a dumbfounded look marred his striking features.

"What did you say Dean, 'an intellect that could rival Einstein'? I'm sure he's spinning in his grave with worry that people will recognize the sheer brain power that's radiating from that face."

"Shut up Sammy! I'm thinking…" _Okay Dean, think! Something that holds fame…? What holds fame? Nothing holds fame! Alright, just look at what's in the room and see if any of them can hold fame._ His eyes roamed the room, but he came up empty. Nothing in there could ever hold fame.

Dean's closed his eyes and they began moving back and forth underneath his eyelids as he mentally went over his possessions that he couldn't see.

Sam watched in fascination as his brother shut his eyes and moved his lips wordlessly, occasionally shaking his head. _He's really getting into this! I think he's finally starting to enjoy this particular "hunt"!_

Dean's eyes snapped open and he grinned, "I can't believe that I didn't think of it sooner!" He leapt over the two beds and jogged the short distance across the room to the duffle bag that contained his clothes. He began tossing items of clothing haphazardly onto the floor in search of his next item. He pulled out his MP3 player and turned a triumphant look towards his sibling.

"I'm impressed."

"You shouldn't be, Sammy. As I said, I'm brilliant," Dean beamed, still somewhat amazed that he had figured out the clue.

"You keep telling yourself that, maybe one day it will be true," he added with a smirk.

"Shut up Haley Joel."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean read the next clue: _'If you get caught for speeding by the cops, you'll need me.'_

"Sammy, don't ever become a writer. These clues are lamer than Pastor Jim's."

Sam winced at the reference to their father's good friend. He was a great guy and extremely knowledgeable, but his jokes had no life to them. They always fell flat and he remembered having to fake his laughter at those atrocities. "Duly noted," Sam barked, doing his best impression of their father while marking off a mock salute.

"Grow up, Sammy!"

"You first!"

Dean sighed from what seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He walked over to his jeans that were crumpled on the floor where he had dropped them before going to bed and pulled out his wallet. He smirked while opening it, only to have his grin falter from his face when he didn't see any red ribbon within the leather pouch. "What the…?"

"Ha! I got you! You aren't thinking on a large scale."

_Okay, if the cops pulled me over for speeding and I would take out my wallet and give them my ID. What is Sam talking about? _Realization slowly dawned on him as he realized that they would automatically run his name through their database and he would have been arrested on the spot for countless crimes, including first degree murder. _DUH! You wouldn't give them that ID, dumbass! They'd haul you off to jail in a heartbeat! Instead, you'd be your usual cunning self and give them another form of ID…like a police badge and tell them you were speeding because you were on "official" police business._ This revelation sent a shiver racing up Dean's spine because those ID's were in the glove compartment of his beloved Impala, which was currently outside in the bitterly frigid night. Dean spun around and glowered at his brother.

"You want me to go outside?" he asked disbelievingly as he moved over to a window and peeked outside.

"Yup!"

"Do you see the weather we're having right now?!" he almost shouted as he pulled back the curtain to reveal the gusting winds and blizzard conditions outside.

"Do you want your present or not?" Sam teased.

"I'm not that desperate. It can wait," he replied coolly.

"Hey, if you're too chicken to go out in this weather, then I can understand that. You need to protect yourself because of your _delicate_ condition," Sam baited.

Dean's chin rose a fraction of an inch and his chest puffed out slightly as he stood to his full height, "I've never been a chicken and I'm certainly not delicate! Do you remember what we do for a living? It's not for the faint of heart."

"All I'm saying is—"

"I know what you're saying!" Dean interrupted. He spun on his heel and snatched his worn brown leather jacket off the back a chair, pulled it on roughly and shoved his feet into his boots without tying them. When he reached the door he grabbed his car keys and heard Sam lumbering to his feet. Dean turned with his hand still on the doorknob. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I'm coming with you."

"No shit, Sherlock. Why?"

"Because it's fun to watch you attempt to figure out my masterfully disguised clues."

Dean shook his head and turned to face his brother, "No Sammy, it's freezing outside and you could get sick. I don't want to have to look after you when you get sick. You're such a baby when it comes to a measly cold."

Sam punched his brother in the arm, "The faster you get out there and solve the next clue, the sooner you can go back to bed."

Although this prospect appealed to Dean, it was Christmas and Sam had gone to all the trouble of setting up this semi elaborate "hunt"; there was no way he was going back to bed after this. It was customary for the Winchester brothers to get coffee and breakfast and watch old Christmas movie re-runs on T.V. "Whatever you say, Shirley."

"Shirley?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, you're acting like a girl, so you deserve a girl's name. 'Shirley' seems fitting, don't you think?"

Sam reached past his brother and pulled open the door, "After you."

Dean turned and was hit by a sub-zero wind that carried snowflakes that had frozen into ice and stung his face like miniscule particles of flying glass. He zipped his jacket all the way up to his chin and defiantly stepped out into the frigid night, only to have Sam follow in the same fashion, cursing under his breath as he zipped up his jacket and burrowed into it for warmth.

Dean decided to maintain his composure and stroll to the car. All thoughts regarding of his ego disappeared as the cold seemed to permeate into his bones and he quickly jogged to his baby, paying close attention to where he stepped and how he placed his weight, with Sam close on his heels.

As much as Sam vehemently denied it, he despised the cold more than most and he tried to keep up with Dean, however he wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping because his only thought was getting out of the bitter wind. As soon as his foot hit the ground he knew he had made a mistake that would cost him much more than he had anticipated: his pride.

His feet swept out from under him as he let out an involuntarily high-pitched shriek. He landed with a bone jarring thud and his breath wheezed out of his lungs. _At least I didn't hit my head,_ he thought wryly. _Maybe the wind was too loud for Dean to have heard my…'scream'._

Sam's eyes whipped to where his older brother should have been standing; he squinted through the sheet of billowing snow, but Dean wasn't there. He looked closer to the ground and there was Dean; on his knees in a snow drift, clutching his stomach with tears rolling down his contorting face. Sam jumped to his feet and ignored the pain in his ankle and he hastily limped over to his fallen brother, "Dean! Dean, are you okay?"

**Don't forget to R&R! It's greatly appreciated!!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**Please R&R! It makes me want to keep writing this story! Also, if you have any ideas on what Sam should get Dean and vice versa, please let me know!!**

There was no response as Dean's entire body writhed on the frozen asphalt, "DEAN! Give me the keys! I'll drive you to the hospital!"

Sam knelt closer to his brother when he heard a mewing gasp only to see that his brother was laughing so hysterically that he couldn't even make a sound. "Jesus, Dean! You nearly gave me a heart attack! I thought something was really wrong!"

"Oh…God…Sammy!…" he gasped between bouts of laughter, "…that…was…so…" he couldn't even finish his sentence as the hilarity of the scene from moments before replayed in his mind and he mentally heard the girly squeal and saw his brother wipe out again.

Sam was suddenly filled with anger and he began to pace around the car, even though it he did more hobbling than actual pacing. "You know what? I tried to make this Christmas special for you, especially since it's the first Christmas since Dad died, but just forget it!"

Dean sobered instantly at the sight of his brother's limp, "Sammy, are you okay?"

"How many times do I have to tell you Dean? STOP. CALLING. ME. 'SAMMY'. IT'S 'SAM'!"

"Okay, _Sam_, would you stop acting like such a girl and let me look at your ankle?"

"No," came the stubborn reply.

"C'mon, Sam! You may have done some real damage to it. You need to have it looked at…and I think we may be snowed in." Dean called out in a concerned voice as he gestured to the blizzard that surrounded them and threatened to swallow them whole. "For now, you're stuck with me."

The apprehensive tone in Dean's voice made Sam's anger disappear and he felt the wind rip though his damp jacket and he started shivering violently. He thought about what the past five minutes must have looked like to an observer and he cracked a smile. "J-just f-f-find your st-t-tupid clue so we can g-go inside," he said while his teeth chattered uncontrollably.

"Deal!" Dean's breath puffed out in the form of a white cloud as he unlocked and opened the driver's side door of the sleek, black Impala. He stretched across the seat and opened the glove compartment. Sure enough, there was his next clue; he tried to undo the ribbon, but his fingers were so cold that he couldn't even feel them, let alone untie the stubborn ribbon. Instead, he shoved it into his pocket, got out, closed the door and locked the Impala up tight for the night. "Let's go! My ass is frozen!"

The brothers warily made their way back to their room and slammed the door closed behind them. They quickly stripped out of their wet clothes and exchanged them for dry ones.

Sam grabbed an old Stanford sweatshirt (that was once white, until Dean had accidentally put a red sock into the washing machine and Sam's favorite sweater had turned a pale shade of pink) out of his bag and pulled it over his head as he completed the look with the matching red sweatpants that had escaped Dean's laundry disaster.

Dean came out of the washroom clad only in an old pair of old, faded blue jeans that hung off his hips in all the right places. He walked at a clipped pace over to his duffle bag as he used a towel to dry off his chiseled chest and wet hair. He removed a worn red plaid shirt and donned it quickly, trying to banish the last of the chills that were still trying to race up and down his spine.

Sam looked at the old shirt and a memory suddenly flashed into his mind:

_December 1990_

_Sam sat on the bed and watched as his father pulled his favourite red plaid shirt on and cried out in pain from the injuries he had sustained from his last hunt. John Winchester buttoned the shirt slowly and a five year old Sam watched on as the stark white bandage that held his broken ribs gradually disappeared._

"_Dad?"_

"_Yes, Sammy?" John Winchester sighed tiredly._

"_What happened to you?"_

"_I'll tell you when you're a little bit older."_

"_That's what you always say. When will I be old enough? I'm already five years old!" Sam exclaimed as he held out five chubby little fingers to prove his point._

_John smiled and sat beside Sam on the bed, "I'll tell you what; when you're eight years old, I'll tell you whatever you want to know."_

_Sam glanced down and counted to eight on his fingers, then removed five of them as John watched on in amazement._

"_But Daddy, that's three years!" he exclaimed. _

"_I know."_

"_That's forever!"_

_John lightly pulled his son to his chest and Sam breathed in the scent of his father and played with the hem of his shirt. John chuckled at his small son sniffing his shirt; the sound reverberated through Sam's ear and he smiled. His Dad didn't smile often and he laughed even less, especially around Christmas. "I know it feels like forever now, but trust me, those three years will go by so quickly. Time seems to fly by…"_

_Sam sighed and lifted his head to look into his father's eyes. "No Dad," he explained slowly to ensure John fully understood his point, "time seems to fly by for you because you're old," he said honestly._

_John let out a burst of laughter then groaned and clutched his chest, "I may seem old now son, but I've never lied to you before and I'm not about to start now."_

_Sam shook his head slowly, believing that his Dad had not fully understood his point._

_John decided to drop the topic for the time being and distract his youngest, "do you want me to make you some cinnamon French toast for breakfast?"_

_The small boy gasped and jumped off the bed, tumbling onto the floor in his haste, "Really? That's my favourite!"_

"_I know Sammy. I'll always know your favourites."_

"Sam?"

"Huh? What?" Sam blinked his eyes to see that he had moved across the room and was now playing with the bottom of the very same shirt as he had all those years ago. He quickly dropped the hem of the garment, took a step back and cleared his throat as a blush crept up his cheeks. "Sorry."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What?"

"I asked, 'do you want to talk about it?'"

"Er…no. What's with the chick flick moment? Are you turning soft on me?" San chuckled uneasily. "Where did you get that shirt?"

Dean glanced down and a faint smile passed across his lips, "It was in Dad's duffle bag. I found it after the," he cleared his throat, "the accident." With that he turned around and pretended to look for something in his duffle bag. "I remember that he always wore this when he was home from a hunt and I couldn't bring myself to throw it away, no matter how angry I am at him."

"Oh. Okay."

The two men stood and looked uncomfortably at each other for a beat and then they both looked away.

'_God! Can anyone say 'awkward'?' _Dean though self consciously as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"So…uh…are you going to read the clue?"

"Only after you let me check that ankle, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes at his overprotective brother while he tried to hide the fact that pain shot from his ankle up his leg and down to the tips of his toes. _'Way to go, Sam! You just sprained your ankle…and that's the best-case scenario! A sprained ankle doesn't normally hurt this much…'_

Dean was having none of Sam's I'm-fine-so-don't-worry-about-it attitude. He saw the way his brother's limp had grown worse since his initial fall coupled with how Sam almost had to unlace his entire shoe to get it off. His little brother did not seem inclined to move, so Dean lightly pushed him towards his bed.

Sam allowed his brother to push him and he moved backwards until his knees made contact with the bed, then he sat down with a loud huff.

"Stop being so dramatic, Sammy. It's bad enough that you scream like a little girl, it's even worse that you keep acting like one," he teased as he kneeled on the floor and took Sam's clothed foot. His normally loose sock was now being stretched by the swelling; he tried to pull off the sock, but Sam yelped and his hands automatically froze where they were. Dean shook his head at his brother's stubborn streak, grabbed their worn first aid kit and crouched on the floor. He took out a pair of small scissors and cut away the material. When he peeled off the remaining fabric, he sat back on his haunches and whistled, "do you want to take a look at that and tell me it's 'no big deal'?" he asked as he gestured to the swollen, technicolour appendage.

Sam lifted his leg into the air and cursed under his breath. "Dean, it's may just be a break!"

"Sammy, I think it's just a sprain…"

"No, it's broken. I know it is. I can feel it. No sprained ankle hurts _that_ much!" Sam whined.

"Man up, Sammy!" Dean teased as he wrapped his brother's ankle in a Tensor bandage.

"What does your next clue say?" Sam snarled.

"That's the spirit!" Dean grinned until he tried to read the next clue, "'Vos nunquam pensus ullus intentio ut mihi ut a parvulus, tamen Ego servo vestri vita magis vicis quam Ego tutela deputo. Ego operor non habitum is clue. Vultus sub cubile.'"

"Dude, you butchered the pronunciation!" Sam chastised with a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Shut up Sammy! You know Latin isn't my strong suit!" Dean shouted; he hated admitting his shortcomings.

"Break it down," his younger sibling advised.

"I wasn't asking for help. I've got it all figured out," he beamed. "The only thing that has Latin in it is the book we use to exorcize demons!" He bolted over to his bag and rifled through it, but the book wasn't there. "Damn it!"

Dean dropped to his knees and started searching through the mess that he had made in his haste earlier. He located the book, opened it and leafed through the pages. Nothing. "Sammy, where is it?"

"I don't know. Read the clue again," he taunted.

Dean went back to the clue and started picking apart the clue using the words he knew. He figured out enough to know that the clue wasn't in the book, however, he couldn't figure out the last part. He broke down and finally asked Sam, "What does the last part of this clue say?"

"You don't know?"

Dean glared, "No, I left my handy Latin dictionary at home," he deadpanned with sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Dean, we don't have a home."

Dean looked at his brother in disbelief, "Exactly."

"Oh," Sam raised his hands in surrender, "Okay! Let me rephrase it: where do you sleep?"

"Lately, I've been sleeping in the Impala, but I'm assuming you mean my bed?"

"Yup!"

Dean quickly walked over to his bed, dropped on his knees, moved the bed sheets off the floor and peered under the mattress. Sitting there was a package wrapped in newspaper; Dean slid the present out from under the bed and whistled, "Wow Sammy, I thought you were just kidding about getting me an actual present…"

"Nope. Open it!" he cried out.

"You don't need to ask me twice!" Dean declared while beginning to rip away the newspaper with fervor.

**Please R&R! I have no idea what the gift should be! Any suggestions for Dean's gift (and/or Sam's gift) would be much appreciated!! Thanks!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I still own nothing. Santa, if you are reading this: please give me Dean for Christmas. I'll forgo the right to Supernatural in favour of Dean…wicked grin**

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**Hi everyone! Thanks for all the kind reviews! They made me want to actually finish this fic. Another thanks goes out to all of you who added this story (or me) to your alerts!**

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When the majority of newspaper had been torn away Dean's felt like his breath had been sucked from his lungs. There was an old and worn jewelry box that Dean remembered vividly from throughout his childhood. Mary had given it to John on his last birthday before her death and John wore it everyday until that fateful night. After his beloved wife's death, John had bought a box to put it into and had carried it around with him every time they had moved. Dean remembered many nights when he couldn't sleep and he would check on Sammy before sneaking out of their room to watch his father. After Mary's death John seemed to fall apart. He drank incessantly and almost seemed to be unable to look at his boys because they reminded him so much of their mother, but on those late nights he would creep in the shadows and watch over his father as he drunkenly sobbed to the watch.

_Dean silently stalked down the short hallway of their living quarters. His father was sitting on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees and his watch cradled in his large hands. A half finished bottle of whiskey sat by his feet as the light glittered off the silver watch face when John's broken voice reached the five year old's ears._

"_Mary…oh my beautiful Mary! What am I supposed to do without you? I can't raise these two boys on my own!" John slurred. "They are so innocent and Dean asks about you all the time. I don't know what to tell him. I can't even look at him or Sammy without seeing you. I…" John started to sob, "I need you!"_

_Dean saw his father stroke the back of the watch and continue to cry so he moved out of the shadows, walked up to his father and hugged him with all the strength he possessed. "It's going to be okay Daddy. I'll take care of Sammy and you won't have to worry about it. We'll be okay. I know you miss Mommy…I do too. But we have each other and Mommy still loves us. I can feel it. Can you?"_

_John, who was shocked out of his sad, drunken state at his son's sudden appearance, thought for a long moment. Here was his five year old son trying to comfort him. It should be the other way around, and yet, Dean seemed to possess wisdom beyond his years. "Yeah Dean, I can still feel it," he gave his eldest son a watery smile. John could see Dean looking at the watch with curiosity only befitting of a small child, "Dean, your Mother gave this to me for my birthday. It's the best thing I have, except for you two boys. It will be yours when you're old enough."_

Dean hadn't seen the watch in almost two years even though he used to periodically rifle through his father's things when he was asleep just to hold something that Mary had treasured so long ago. Even as an adult, he found an immeasurable amount of comfort from this piece of jewelry and thought it had been lost when the possessed man had crashed into the Impala.

Dean's eyes snapped up to his younger brother's and, for once in his life, Dean didn't try to hide the emotions playing on his face, "Wh…where? I thought…I…"

"The Impala. After the crash I went to get the guns to hide them and I grabbed Dad's bag. I left it at Bobby's and only remembered about it a little while ago. I saw the watch and remembered you telling me something about that watch when I was really small. You coveted that watch…almost as much as your precious Impala," Sam joked.

"Sammy," Dean breathed.

"You like it?"

"I love it. Right after Mom died…" Dean's voice trailed off for a moment, "Dad promised me that he would give it to me when I was older. It, uh, it represents a lot of things for me that I'd forgotten. It's…the best thing I've ever gotten. That and my protection necklace you gave me that one Christmas."

"Sapphire Barbie. I remember," Sam deadpanned.

"Okay, this is all getting a bit too after school special for me," Dean smirked and Sam laughed while shaking his head. The eldest Winchester walked over to the desk drawer and opened it, removing a beautifully wrapped and ribboned gift.

"Whoa Dean! You went all out on that!" Sam exclaimed.

"Well Sammy—"

"It's Sam," he interrupted.

"As I was saying _Sammy,_ I got this at this store and I saw this smoking hot chick at the gift wrapping kiosk. I asked her to wrap it as a gift for my younger brother and to make it extra special as I had a terminal illness and wasn't going to be around for much longer. Naturally, she gave me her number, I took her out that night, then she took me home."

"Dean!" Sam groaned.

"What? Okay, just think of that as a dying Christmas wish!"

"Do you know how many of those you've had? I've lost count!"

"But that night…it was _totally _worth it! I should have thought of that earlier and used it as part of a pickup line. The chicks really love that mushy crap!" He laughed at the horrified look on his younger brother's face and handed him the gift. "Go for it Sammy."

Sam carefully slipped the ribbon off the package, tore away the blue and silver wrapping paper almost frantically. The paper had been removed to reveal a snapshot of the two Winchester's at the greasy spoon restaurant while they had been working the cursed rabbit's foot job. Sam looked mortified and Dean was grinning like a fool: it was hysterical because Sam had never seen the picture because things had gotten so harried after it had been taken. Sam remembered Dean's line after he 'rescued' Sam at the motel: "I'm Batman!" His brother always wanted to be Batman while they were children.

Sam's ears picked up a quiet tinkering sound and he glanced up to see Dean holding out the keys to his precious baby (otherwise known as the Impala). "Dean…"

"No, Sammy! I want you to have these. They won't do me any good where I'm going."

"Dean, I decided to do all of this to make you see that you aren't going anywhere. If giving you a stupid watch is helping you to decide to roll over and die, then give it back to me."

"Sammy…"

"Shut up Dean! It's Sam, not Sammy. If you're willing to just die then tell me now and I'll leave. I can't…" Sam took a deep breath, "I can't lose the only person who has ever been there for me. You can't just give up. If you are, then I'm gone. It's as simple as that."

"It's not that simple!" Dean shouted.

"YES IT IS!" Sam hollered back equally as loud.

"NO IT'S NOT! IF I DO FIGHT THIS OR TRY TO WEASLE MY WAY OUT OF IT, THEN YOU'RE DEAD! I DID THIS FOR YOU! I'M YOUR BIG BROTHER! IT'S MY JOB TO WATCH OVER YOU AND PROTECT YOU WHEN YOU CAN'T OR WON'T PROTECT YOURSELF! DON'T TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME! Not now. Not tonight…" Dean's voice had gone from almost ear shattering proportions to a mere whisper. He looked up at his brother and felt all the pent up tears that he had been holding back spill over and pour down his cheeks. "Dammit Sammy! I don't want to fight over this, I really don't, okay? I made my choice. It may seem incredibly selfish to you right now, but I need you to understand something for me. I'm different than you and Dad; I'm like a dog with pack instincts. I will fight fiercely for my family—to the death if necessary, but if I can't save them and am left alone I'll just lie down and die. I can't form a new pack. You're it for me little brother. You can go on and meet a nice girl, finish your schooling, settle down, have a few kids. You can have the all-American dream complete with the white picket fence and the freakin' apple pie! It's not for me; it never was and it never will be."

Sam's phone rang and his eyes flicked down to the caller ID: _Bobby_. "I've gotta take this."

Dean threw his hands up in the air as his younger brother answered the phone and spoke rather cryptically when his face suddenly went pale and he thanked their friend and hung up. "Dean," Sam started and couldn't finish, his throat seemed to suddenly close up on him. His older brother, the one who always held it together suddenly sounded so broken.

"Sammy, please. I'm tired. I just want this to be over. I want you to promise me you'll go back to Stanford and finish your degree. Promise me you'll be the best damn lawyer out there. Promise me you won't end up like me."

"I can't promise you those things…"

"What? I ask you for a few measly things and all you can say is 'I can't promise you those things?'"

"Dean, that was Bobby—"

"I know who it was! I saw your phone!"

"He was calling to tell us that—"

"I don't care why he was calling!"

"Dean, would you stop acting like such a girl and let me speak?"

Dean's mouth which had been opening quickly snapped shut and he settled for a burning glare.

"As I was trying to say, that was Bobby. We've been working on a way for you to get out of the crossroads deal. He promised to call me and tell me if he made any progress. I told him to take tonight off because of the scavenger hunt. But he didn't listen."

"What are you trying to say Sammy?" Dean asked cautiously.

"He did it. That son of a bitch really did it. He took the colt and went straight to the top of the demonic food chain. He got you out of your deal and even managed to kill a couple of them before escaping…barely."

"So, I'm not…dying?"

"Apparently not. Bobby mentioned some promise he'd made to Dad a while ago, I didn't really get the whole story because he was pretty beat and was almost asleep when I got off the phone with him."

"Sweet."

"That's all you have to say?"

Dean seemed to think for a while, "Yup!" Dean blinked and while he was opening his eyes he was tackled and pinned to the floor.

Dean lay on the ground and struggled with his younger, yet taller brother for a few moments before relaxing his body and placing his hands behind his head, "Good one Sammy. You're learning young grasshopper."

"You're giving up?" Sam asked suspiciously.

Dean nodded yes while simultaneously shouting, "NO!" His hand shot out and grabbed Sammy's ankle whilst slightly squeezing it. Sam yelped giving Dean enough time and space to roll his brother onto the floor and pin him.

After another few minutes of wrestling Sam hobbled over to the TV while Dean placed their photo on the table between the two beds. They crawled into their respective single beds as the sun began to rise over the horizon. Dean had a bloody lip (thanks to Sam's knee) and a scratch from his left eyebrow to his nose, Sam's hair was a rat's nest on top of his head and he had the beginnings of a black eye (courtesy of Dean's elbow). They settled back and watched Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer while laughing at all the various scenes and remembering their past Christmases; they may not have been the happiest, loving or plentiful times of their childhoods, but it was all they had and they loved it. Dean's eye caught on the picture and he smiled. He had everything to live for now that Sammy and Bobby had somehow managed to break his deal with the crossroads demon. Hell, maybe he'd even take part in the all-American dream…

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

"Merry Christmas, Dean."

The movie played on for a few minutes until…

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

**Well, that's it. I hope you liked it! It was my first fic, so please don't forget to read and review this one! I'm not sure about the ending…**

**A special thanks goes out to Poisonchik88 for giving me the wonderful suggestion on what the boys should give each other and also to spookyfox23 for the review and all of you who added this story to your alerts!**

**Merry Christmas and happy New Year to all of you out there! **


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